


white roses

by bullettobinarypt2



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Kid Patrick Stump, Kid Pete Wentz, Pen Pals, Secret Admirer, but they’re 12 so i don’t feel like i’d be comfortable writing about that lol, i mean not so much, if you squint it could be romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bullettobinarypt2/pseuds/bullettobinarypt2
Summary: We broke open the day like white roses falling from someone’s arms.





	white roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laudanum_cafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_cafe/gifts).



> last week was laudanum_cafe’s birthday so i wrote this for her! it’s a bit different from my other fics [read: happy] but i’m extremely proud of it. i hope everyone enjoys it. 
> 
> partially inspired by “white roses” by little star

Pete never gets letters. He didn’t even think such an event was fathomable. He doesn’t even have friends, not counting the kids his mom keeps trying to force him to talk to so he can develop a self esteem or whatever. He’s tired of talking to children whose only concerns are why his skin is white in some places. There’s a sense of comfort in his loneliness and he aims to protect it, even if means he’ll be lonely. 

Being alone isn’t so bad. He’s taken an interest in pottery and is rather skilled at it. Over the years he has crafted dozens of cups, plates and figurines, wag improving in quality and becoming more creative and intricate. It’s a shame that no one other than his mother will ever appreciate his art pieces but if it keeps him safe, Pete doesn’t mind. 

The letter comes in a crisp powder blue envelope with reflective kitten stickers speckled across it. There’s a smiley face drawn on the flap but no return address or date, not even his name. 

His mother must have assumed it’s for him based on that. Pete’s ready to give the envelope back to her and to tell her to just put it back in the mailbox until he feels a small lump inside of it. Instead he says his thanks and opens it in his room later that night.

A single white petal tucked away inside, paired with a tiny slip of paper, jagged at the edges from being torn out of a notebook and creased. Pete unfolds the paper to reveal a full sheet with carefully written cursive. He has to squint to read it because the lettering is so small. 

_Hi I’m Patrick and I see you around the neighborhood sometimes. Our moms are in the same book club too so you’ve probably heard about me. You don’t get out a lot but when you do, you always look sad and I wish you weren’t. I think we have a lot in common and I would like to get to know you, if that’s fine with you. If it isn’t, just disregard this letter and throw it out and I’ll get it._

_P. S. that’s a petal from a white rose. It made me think of you._

Beneath the scrawled note is a sketch done in black ink of a rose seated on a mound of dirt. How charming. Pete neatly refolds the note and tucks it back into its envelope. After rummaging through his nightstand for a couple of minutes, he finds a thumbtack and drives it through the envelope, pinning it to the bulletboard over his desk. Maybe it’s a stretch, but he feels like he has something to look forward to now and is curious, actually excited. Someone knows who he is and cares about him. 

Part of Pete thinks this is fake, that this is a sick joke and he’s falling right into place to be humiliated. But he’s lonely and wants good things. He writes back and gives the letter to his mom. 

_Hi Patrick, I’m Pete but you probably know that since you said our moms are friends. My mother mentioned you before but i don’t remember what you look like or if I’ve even seen you before. Yeah, I am kind of sad but it’s okay. Thank you for the rose petal and drawing, they are both really nice. You’re a talented artist. I like the stickers on the envelope. I’m not good at art but I like to sculpt sometimes and Found this old button, if that’s not too weird. It’s shaped like a butterfly. I think that’s kind of cool._

 

Three days later a new envelope appears on the dining room table, this one rose colored and sparkling under the warm light of the ceiling fan, still wet with glue. Pete snatches it up vigorously and opens it with shaking hands. This is as real as he thought it was. 

This letter is shorter, but it still feels nonetheless genuine and important to Pete.

_Thank you for the button. It’s really cute and will be useful when I figure out how to sew. I’m good at weaving and knitting. Maybe I could knit you a sweater! Until then, here’s another petal and some stickers I like. I’m glad you didn’t think that the others were dumb or weird._

As promised in the letter, there’s a sheet of Lisa Frank cat stickers and another white petal in the envelope. Pete brushes his fingers over them and smiles to himself, like he’s in on a secret joke. In a way, he is. Like the last letter and petal, the items go up on the board and he finds himself sitting back at his desk to compose another letter to Patrick. 

 

“Peter, would you like to go to a birthday party this weekend?” 

“No thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes mother. I’d like to be alone.” 

“Alright.” 

She’s trying to help, Pete knows this, but he doesn’t have the energy to face a group of people who will stare at him. It would be rude to draw attention away from whoever's birthday it was and he doesn’t feel like being made fun of anymore. 

 

Five letters later and Pete receives a polaroid photograph of a young boy and his mother sitting at a table with a cake and ripped wrapping paper. On the back, scribbled in permanent marker it reads PATRICK’S 12th BIRTHDAY. He doesn’t look familiar at all but his mom, Ms. Stump, is a face Pete recalls after sneaking glances at her and the other people from the top of the stairs when his mother holds book club meetings. Patrick looks a lot like his mother, with wispy strawberry blonde hair, a squared soft face and his lips are curled into a shy smile.

At first Pete thinks there’s paint splashed on his face and arms but realizes that it’s an abundance of freckles. _I think we have a lot in common_. Pete’s fingers run over the white blotches on his arms and face and he finally understands.

_We broke open the day like white roses falling from someone’s arms_

He cries. 

 

“Hey mom, you know Patrick? Can I see him sometime soon?”

She’s surprised by how eager he is to meet with another person. It’s out of character for him but happily accepted and praised. “We’ll try tomorrow,” she promises. 

Inside, Pete is a overcome with a combination of terror and excitement. What if Patrick doesn’t like him in person? What if he doesn’t like Patrick when they finally meet? There’s room for a lot to go wrong but he’s sure of what he wants. 

 

Pete remembers Ms. Stump’s house, made of water stained brick and covered with vines. Pete wonders why he never saw Patrick before when he’d accompanied his mother on her visits. Maybe he’s as much of a recluse as Pete is. 

“Oh, you’re who Patrick has been writing to so much lately!” Ms. Stump says cheerfully as she seats Pete in the living room. She looks him over, ignoring his discolored skin, eyes the sloppily wrapped box in his hands and raises an eyebrow at Pete’s sweater and asks, “Aren’t you hot under there?”

“No ma’am, I’m fine,” Pete lies. He shifts awkwardly on the couch and pulls at the collar to release some of the heat trapped under the yarn. 

“Okay,” she replies in a wary voice. “Patrick is in the backyard and will be in soon, but you can visit him out there if you want.” 

Pete allows Ms. Stump to lead him through the kitchen to the backyard. She gives him a little push when he hesitates and an encouraging nod before going back inside. His hands shake as he looks around the small but flourishing with lush green bushes, neatly chopped grass and a garden of tulips, tiger lilies and white roses. Pete remembers the petals he keeps in his room and cracks a smile at the connection. 

On a stone bench next to the roses sits a person in a grey cardigan with a baseball cap covering their auburn hair. “Patrick?” 

Patrick looks up and grins when he sees Pete. “Hi!” His face is even more freckled in person, bursts of brown across his cheeks, forehead and nose, an inverse of the pinkish-white spots on Pete’s face. “You actually came?” 

“Um, yeah.” Pete slowly walks over to the bench and sits next to Patrick, placing the box between them and folding his hands in his lap. His gaze wagers between the flowers and Patrick for several moments before he finally says, “Thanks for the letters. I really like them.” He has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t add, And I like you. “Sorry for missing your birthday. I got you a gift though, if you want it.” 

Patrick’s eyes dart to the box, expression becoming perplexed before shifting into something softer. “Really? I thought it was for my mom…” He looks at the ground and draws a line in the dirt with the tip of his sneaker. “No one got me anything for my birthday besides her…” His face flushes and he holds his head down so his hat covers his face again. 

Frowning, Pete replies, “No, it’s really for you.” He can understand why Patrick is so flustered but it isn’t pleasant to see. “People don’t really interact with me either. Well, not for the right reasons.” Pete pulls at his sleeves and swallows thickly. “You understand that, right? Like you said in your letters?” 

“Yeah, I get it.” Patrick rubs at the ground, wiping away all traces of whatever he was drawing in the dirt. “Can I open it?”

“If you want to. Please be careful with it, it’s really fragile!” Pete doesn’t mean to be a bother but he would hate for Patrick’s gift to accidentally get damaged in the unboxing process before he even gets to see what it is. It would be easy to fix, but he wouldn’t want to give Patrick that’s subpar and diminished. 

Patrick carefully unwraps the box, peeling the tape off the wrapping paper with nimble fingers and removing the lid and setting it on his lap. Pete watches carefully for Patrick’s reaction as he looks inside. “Oh wow,” Patrick gasps. “This is...really pretty.” He begins to reach into the box before drawing his hands back dubiously. “Can I touch it?” 

“Of course!” Pete replies excitedly. 

Patrick eagerly wraps his hands around the object, cradling it in his palms and rotating it so he gets a better look. “How much did this cost, Pete? It’s wonderful.” It’s a medium sized clay rose, small enough to fit in one’s hands and carved with delicate detail. 

“I made it myself,” Pete replies. It’s his turn to be embarrassed now. He averts his eyes and drums his fingertips on the bench. “I’m glad you like it. I thought you would since you would send me roses and drawings and...yeah. I just wanted you to have something I made with my own hands.” 

Patrick falls silent and Pete fears he said the wrong thing, looking back to the other boy to ask if he’s alright. Instead, Patrick is wiping his face and sniffling. “Thank you,” he says between tears. “This means a lot to me. I really like it.” Patrick gingerly sets the rose back in its container and slides the lid back on, sealing it tightly shut. “C-can I hug you?” 

When was the last time someone other than his mother hugged him? “Yeah.” He scoots closer to Patrick and wraps his arms around his shoulders, not really sure how to maneuver his body. Patrick seems to figure it out and hugs back. Despite it being awkwardly placed, it’s not a bad hug and leaves Pete buzzing inside. 

Clearing his throat, Patrick says, “You should come over again, um, only if you’re able to, I mean.” He pulls the gift box into his lap and hugs it to his chest. “It gets really lonely here in the garden sometimes.” 

Pete glances at the garden and admires the natural beauty of it before saying, “I’d love to.”


End file.
